Natalia had let Bradon know she'd be working late and suggested he swing by around eight instead. With plenty of time before he needed to pick her up, he decided to call his partner. They made plans to grab some drinks and discuss their issues in a more relaxed setting. As he headed out to meet him, a mix of anticipation and unease settled in his chest.
As they sat down and started talking, Bradon made sure not to drink too much; he needed to keep his wits about him. They discussed the risks involved in their operation and ways to safeguard it. Just as the conversation began to pick up steam, his phone pinged with a message from Natalia, reminding him it was time to pick her up.
Excusing himself, he made his way to the car, his thoughts shifting entirely to her. The anticipation of seeing her was soon overshadowed by tension when he arrived at her office. As he unbuckled his seatbelt, his eyes caught sight of Natalia standing outside with someone unfamiliar—a stranger standing far too close for his comfort.
His gaze narrowed as he tried to get a better look. Who was this man, and why was he standing so close to her? A fire of anger and jealousy ignited in his chest, intensifying with each passing second. Soon enough, Natalia approached the car, her excitement shining through as she opened the passenger door. But just as quickly, he noticed her expression falter.
She asked if she could drive. He felt the weight of her request, the underlying tension evident in her voice. As they settled into the car, the atmosphere thickened with unspoken words. The ride home unfolded in silence, each of them lost in thought, the air heavy with unaddressed emotions.
By the time they reached home, Bradon's mind raced, twisting the atmosphere into a heavy cloud of doubt. He couldn't shake off the image of Natalia with that stranger, and it gnawed at him. Once they stepped inside, the silence became almost suffocating, forcing him to voice the question lingering in his mind.
"Who was he?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.
Natalia turned to him, a look of confusion crossing her face. "Who?"
Frustration surged within him. "The guy outside your office—the one you were standing so close to."
Her expression remained calm, though he could sense her growing frustration. "He's a forensic cybersecurity expert. We had a meeting scheduled, but he arrived late, so we ended up discussing the case outside."
Her explanation hung in the air, and though the tension in his chest eased slightly, doubt still flickered in the back of his mind. Despite the professional nature of their interaction, jealousy gnawed at him.
"Oh, is that so?" he questioned, skepticism lacing his tone. He searched her face for any sign of dishonesty, unwilling to let the matter rest.
"Yes, Bradon. Why would I lie?" she replied, her voice trembling with exhaustion.
"I don't know. Maybe I'm just not enough," he shot back, his insecurities bubbling to the surface. His overthinking and anger spiraled out of control, and the weight of doubt suffocated any rational thought. The words spilled from his mouth before he could fully grasp their impact, and he hated that his fears were driving a wedge between them.
Natalia's eyes darkened with frustration. "I just got home from work, Bradon. I can't deal with your insecurities every day. You come home drinking and then blame me for things that don't even exist." She turned toward the bedroom, her voice firm and tired.
But he wasn't done. He couldn't let her walk away—not without an answer, not without making her understand how this was eating him alive.
"Our conversation isn't over yet, Natalia! Don't you dare move," he barked, his voice louder than he intended.
She stopped, clearly exasperated, before turning back to face him. The sight of her trying to stay calm only fueled the fire inside him. He watched as she set her bag down slowly, knowing this was about to escalate. He hated how this always happened, but he couldn't help himself.
"Bradon, please," she said, her voice carefully controlled, as if that alone could stop the storm building inside him.
"Please?" he mocked, stepping closer. "Am I not enough for you, Natalia?" His voice was harsh, but the pain behind it was real. He kept moving toward her, his steps heavy with frustration and the alcohol coursing through his veins. The darkness threatened to consume him, but he couldn't stop it.
She looked up at him, something shifting in her expression. Instead of backing away, she reached out, cupping his face in her hands, catching him off guard.
"Bradon, you are enough for me. I don't want anyone but you. You are everything I want and need. So, stop with all the overthinking that's taking up your mind," she said softly, her voice calm and patient, like she was trying to reach the part of him still buried beneath the anger.
Her words washed over him, and slowly, the tension began to drain from his body. His head spun from the alcohol, but something about the way she looked at him—so steady, so loving—began to cool the rage inside him. He didn't deserve this kind of patience, but here she was, always trying to save him from himself.
He wrapped his arms around her tightly, holding her close. He didn't want to let go. She was his anchor in this storm he created in his mind. He buried his face in her neck, her familiar scent grounding him, mixing with the remnants of his drink.
She sighed, and for the first time in hours, he felt a sense of relief. The fear and doubt started to fade, replaced by the warmth of her presence. He pressed wet kisses against her neck, needing to feel her close, needing to remind himself that she was his.
"I love you, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice low and soft, barely audible against her skin. The anger was gone now, replaced with something else—something fragile, yet real.
"I love you too, Bradon," she whispered back, and for a moment, everything was okay again.